


Antigone Caged

by Hamiltonian



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:40:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamiltonian/pseuds/Hamiltonian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Disciple makes herself infamous during the internment of the Signless' followers. The Grand Highblood finds himself inexplicably intrigued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antigone Caged

He takes no notice of her when they bring her in the first time. He has no reason to - the Signless has many followers, and all of them are marked for the same fate regardless of their proximity to his inner ring. Her status as his lover only ensures that she'll be forced to watch him die, a thought that makes him grin in anticipation. It was going to be quite an occasion soon enough.

The Signless' infamy dictates that Her Imperious Condescension make an appearance to mete out the most fitting of punishments. This buys him more time as the Imperial Fleet makes its way back to Alternia, and it is during this time that his disciple first begins to catch his attention.

Initially it's only as a minor annoyance cropping up repeatedly in his guards' reports, complaints about a prisoner who tells stories to the other captives and keeps them thorny and defiant even in the face of death. He simply has her moved into solitary confinement, and adds the guards incompetent enough to bring the matter up in the first place to the night sky on his wall. That, he thinks as he carefully dots in another constellation, is the end of that.

And then she begins to sing.

The guards are hesitant to mention it to him but soon it becomes more than they can handle. Night and day, loud enough for the entire prison to hear, she continues to sing. They try everything from starvation to whipping to silence her, but each punishment only seems to goad her to continue with more vigor than before.

On the worst nights, they tell him, the other prisoners join in to transform the hallways into echoing chambers of rebellion and hope. It is one of these nights that the Grand Highblood finally decides to pay a visit to the cause of this strange unrest. The cacophony of voices swirling around him makes his hair stand on end, though not out of fear - he can't help but imagine how the tones will sound when distorted by the hysteria that comes to all who die.

The disciple is something of a disappointment when he finally reaches her secluded cell. Even without taking the harsh conditions of imprisonment into consideration, she's a small and relatively unimposing figure. How strange that a woman he could easily break in half would be the source of so many desperate pleas for silence.

She barely spares him a glance as his shadow falls into her line of vision, merely tosses her matted hair out of her eyes and continues singing. Unperturbed by her disdain he crouches down so that his hulking form is level with hers, only the bars separating them.

"So you're the little motherfucker who's been causing such a fuss. _Been hearing all kinds of things about you."_

If the disciple has any opinion on the complaints lodged by her keepers she doesn't make them known. She turns very deliberately to angle her face away from the Grand Highblood; although her tune never wavers, the slight narrowing of her eyes betrays her disdain for her conversation partner. The small chink in her impassive armor makes him chuckle and sidle in more closely.

"Didn't think that you'd be so much of a goddamn nuisance, but I guess I should have known better. _Guess I should have known that punchline-blooded fucker would've taught his lady a thing or two."_

The slur causes another ripple of anger to pass over her face, this one lingering more than the last. It seems that not even separation and solitary confinement can dull the protective feelings she harbors. How foolish, to cling onto a loyalty that will send her nowhere but the grave.

"Oh, you don't like that. _You don't like that at all._ But you'd better get used to it, because that's what he fucking is. _A fucking joke who went too far."_

He reaches out between the bars to grasp her delicate chin in his hand, drags her harshly until they're pressed up against the bars face to face. The mask of calm finally falls as she stops singing at last, locking eyes with him instead with an expression that fills the pit of his stomach with an inexplicable warmth.

"But soon enough he's going to end up on my wall. _And you're going to watch."_

Her hand lashes out without warning, too fast for him to block. Suddenly she's digging into his face, dragging her nails down in deep ragged grooves that promise to scar over and scream her defiance for as long as he lives. With an involuntary cry of pain he shoves the disciple back, clutching at his face as indigo seeps between his fingers.

For a moment everything is quiet save the uneven breathing of the two trolls. Then the Grand Highblood begins to laugh, letting his hand drop to his side as the wound continues to send rivulets of blood down his face and neck.

"Heh. Kitten's got fangs. _Thought you little shits were pacifists."_

"That doesn't mean we don't know how to fight." The disciple licks at the blood on her hand, baring her indigo-tinted fangs at him in the dangerously proud grin of a hunter. Her eyes are wild and in that moment the Highblood can feel the warmth in his stomach twist up and sink into his bones as he stares down this brazen little caged animal.

He leaves with a dripping face and inflamed with excitement. She continues to sing.

 

The Grand Highblood visits her many times after their first encounter, each meeting seemingly charged with more undefined tension than the last. She stops singing when he arrives, switches instead to words as her weapon of choice in the struggle of resistance she constantly engages in. On nights when she refuses to acknowledge his presence he goes to great lengths to torment her into responding - for some reason it irks him when he can't hear her voice.

For the first few meetings they debate, bobbing and weaving around each other as if each verbal match were a physical altercation. The disciple refuses to move from her fervent belief in blood equality, adoring tone never absent when she speaks of her beloved master. These philosophical arguments are soon discarded, as he finds that they put him in an incredibly sour mood.

He doesn't want to think about the reason for that.

Soon enough, however, the Imperial Fleet arrives. The Condesce disembarks from her flagship and a date is set for the mass execution of the Signless and his followers. Although his appetite to see the rainbow of slaughter is great as ever, the idea of a certain forest green on his wall sits uncomfortably heavy in his mind. It's strange, but he would much rather have her locked away forever.

In the end he receives neither outcome.

The chaos that breaks out upon the disciple's flight is the only thing which saves Darkleer from the sudden wrath bubbling up inside him and demanding to be let out. He wants to tear the cowardly executioner limb from limb and play upon his exposed ribcage with the remaining bones. In his mindless fury the Highblood is unable to reflect on the fact that his need foe retribution stems not from a prisoner's escape but from the certainty that only strong pity could have moved a troll to commit such a suicidal action.

By the time relative order is restored and Darkleer brought before him for sentencing, the information has spread that the affections which stayed his hand were pale (and that soothes something in his mind, the part which wanted her kept away from everyone that wasn't him forever). His rage calms and the traitor escapes with his life, albeit one permanently sealed away from all other trolls. There's enough navy on his wall already to justify excusing one.

Orders are given soon after detailing the urgent need for the disciple to be found and returned to the subjugglators. He's very careful to stress the fact that should she be brought back dead the troll foolish enough to attempt to collect the bounty would find himself turned inside out in short order. It's easy enough to explain away, although by now he can at least admit that the actions have ulterior motives.

Although the price on her head is phenomenal, the disciple is never found. Whispers of her death begin to circle as sweeps pass, but the Highblood knows better. His kitten is far too wild to be bowed even by an entire planet aligned against her.

When he sleeps, he hears her voice singing the tune which incited her fellow prisoners. He honestly doesn't know whether to be grateful for the memory or not.


End file.
